Their First Thanksgiving
by PleasedAsPunch
Summary: One-shot in which the Doctor and Rose visit the pilgrims at Plymouth Plantation.


"Odd folks, Americans," the Doctor said, walking out of the TARDIS with Rose on his heels.

"You don't have to tell me twice," she responded, looking down at her costume. With long, sober-looking skirts, and a severe bonnet to match, she didn't exactly feel like an adventurer in time and space. "I look like a bleeding idiot."

"Well, I mean, at this point they technically aren't _Americans_ per se," the Doctor continued, ignoring her comment. "Considering, of course, that America as a nation doesn't really exist yet. If you want to get technical, they're English nationals with religious qualms about the Church of England."

"Right…so where precisely are we?"

"Massachusetts, 1621."

"And this is significant because?"

"Pilgrims, Rose! The first Thanksgiving!"

"Oh! You mean with the Indians and Pilgrims all eating turkey together?"

"More likely they ate goose, venison, and fish. And it was specifically the Wampanoag tribe, but yes, that's the general state of things."

"Wampo-whaty?"

"Wampanoag."

"Right."

They walked further through the forest. Rose looked up into the sky. It looked to be about four or five in the morning, and she could smell the distinct smell of fire chugging through chimneys.

"So, are we going to go eat with them?" she finally asked.

"Thought we might give it a shot. But take this first," he said, handing her a small pill.

"What's this?"

"Your system likely can't handle the way they prepare food. And just to be safe, I wouldn't recommend drinking the water. This will help protect you from the worst of it."

Rose swallowed the pill dry and looked forward in the direction they were walking. As the forest broke into a clearing, they regarded the small dwellings that constituted a tiny community.

"Not what you were expecting?" the Doctor asked, looking over his shoulder at her.

"No real pomp, is there? Doesn't even look like they're preparing a big meal."

"Yeah, well, the first Thanksgiving wasn't really a thing."

"Then why are we—?"

"Principle of the thing, really." He reached into his coat and pulled out the psychic paper. "Shall we?" he asked, eyeing the village in front of them.

"Lead the way," Rose responded, thoroughly confused. "What's that paper going to say, anyway?"

"That we're ambassadors from the Massachusetts Bay Colony. Best not to give them too many details. Not a trusting bunch of people, the Separatists. We should probably leave by nightfall, lest the locals see past our charade."

"What'll the do? Pray us to death?"

"Or stone us or hang us or imprison us. Never underestimate the Separatists , Rose."

"Thanksgiving, _indeed_," she muttered under her breath.

The locals were suspicious but eventually welcoming. There was a feast to be sure, but hardly the extravaganza peddled by modern historians. The festivities had a strangely solemn air, as if even in times of celebration, their angry God was still watching over them.

The Doctor brought her a cup of beer.

"Ugh, Doctor, thank you but no thank you. I don't know how they get away with calling that beer."

"We can go back to the TARDIS soon, if you'd like." It was nearing late afternoon and they were both weary from eating and fabricating believable lies about their identities on the spot.

"Mmm," she hummed. "That might be nice." They were both sitting by a tree slightly away from the main festivities.

"You know, Rose, if they saw us like this, we'd probably get flogged or something."

"What, for sitting next to each other?"

"No, for sitting so close to each other in public that our bodies are touching and that your head is rested on my shoulder. Next thing you know you'll have a red A sewn onto your dress."

"A what?"

"Never mind."

For a moment they sat in silence.

"Doctor, what are you thankful for?" she asked quietly. The drying leaves rustled around them.

"You," he responded without thinking.

"I'm thankful for you, too."

He kissed the top of her head through her bonnet.

"Mind if I take this off?" he asked. Rose nodded.

He untied her bonnet. She could feel his fingers—strangely cold— under her chin as he pulled the strings. He swept the bonnet from her head and his fingers combed through her hair, loosening it from its confines.

"There," he said, his work done. "Very beautiful." They were close enough to kiss. Would they kiss? Was he going to kiss her?

There was a moment of silence when he realized what he had said, which extended to an even more profound silence when he realized that the sounds coming from the celebrations had become all but non-existant.

"I believe," the Doctor started looking back at the colonists who were looking angrily back at them, "that they might be a bit taken aback that we are consorting we are out of wedlock."

_Consorting as we are_? Rose thought. Did that mean…

"We should probably run."

"I think running would be good," whispered, still stock-still and looking at the grimacing pilgrims in front of them.

"We should go," he continued.

"We should."

"Why aren't we moving?"

"You're sitting on my dress."

"Oh, sorry." He quickly maneuvered himself up and he took her hand before they both careened headlong into the forest towards the TARDIS, where they would continue to be extremely thankful for one another.

Notes:

*The "angry God" thing is a reference to Jonathan Edwards' "Sinners in the hands of an angry God" sermon, which was actually preached over 100 years after the first Thanksgiving.

**I also don't think they had chimneys back then, at least in small dwellings, but I'm not sure and I didn't feel like doing that much research. It's my fic and I do what I want.


End file.
